


Skipping Lunch

by Fluffyllama (Llama)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-19
Updated: 2011-12-19
Packaged: 2017-10-27 13:00:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,514
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/296123
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Llama/pseuds/Fluffyllama
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On a fateful Hallowe’en, Remus and Peter have a lunch date.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Skipping Lunch

“ _Tonight_.”

Peter almost missed the whisper and the brush of a lean body against his own in the Leaky Cauldron’s lunchtime crush. He looked around the bar, but even on tiptoe he couldn’t see anyone that might have… and then he saw him. Talking earnestly to a bland-looking man, a familiar weaselly face that gazed right past him.

Shit. Peter’s hands shook as he lifted his plate, and he had to lean on the bar for a moment. He’d come this far, he could do this. He _could_.

“Want a hand?”

Peter jumped, and the plates clattered on the bar again.  
  
“Sorry.” Remus gave him a tired grin; it was an effort for any of them to really smile these days. “Didn’t mean to surprise you.” He nodded to the soup. “One of those mine?”

“Yes, I thought something warm would be best. You know, since you’re always cold.”

And he always said the wrong thing. Remus dodged out of the way of the glance at his threadbare clothing that was going to present a real problem come winter, and sat at a small table.

“Thanks. You can tell it’s well into autumn now, can’t you?”

What, by the way the trees have less covering them than you, or the way we’re all dying slowly, Peter wanted to ask, but he crumbled bread into his thick tomato soup instead and stared at the table.

“Something wrong?” Remus’ gentle voice made his eyes prick with shame, tears… something.

“Everything’s wrong. You know, just…” He dared to look up.

“I know. James and Lily can’t even lead a normal life, and Sirius–” Remus frowned, his forehead wrinkling. “I don’t know, I never see him now. I assume he’s busy fetching and carrying for them.” He shrugged. “He’s the only one that can visit them, after all.”

“Yeah.” He wasn’t even uncomfortable with the lie any more. “I just feel so…” He didn’t want to say it, and his voice trailed off.

Remus stirred the thick soup and let the spoon clatter against the side of the bowl.

“Cold and lonely?” His lips twisted in what might have been a smile if it hadn’t been poisoned by bitterness rising to the surface.

Peter nodded quickly, ashamed to admit it was true, but he was, even more than he was scared, or guilty.

“You’ve got me,” Remus said, and stared at Peter’s hands where they lay heavy on the table.

“I—” Peter wasn’t even sure what he was going to say when he opened his mouth, but it didn’t matter much, as it turned out.

“I don’t have to be back at work for an hour or so.”

Remus fiddled with his spoon, and Peter’s ears thudded with something that might be panic. It wasn’t, couldn’t be anything else. Remus couldn’t be suggesting what he thought.

“We could go to your place?” Remus’ voice was husky, and little more than a whisper.

But then again…

* * *

It was funny how a few words could make it feel like he was bringing a stranger home instead of someone he’d known for years. Even bumping arms with Remus as they walked out into Diagon Alley felt different to the thousands of times their arms had touched before, and suddenly everything he would normally babble about seemed inappropriate as a conversation subject.

It felt more wrong still to be turning down into the tiny backstreet he called home at this time of day – and with someone he was going to sleep with, too. It had been a while since he’d bothered, but usually it would be dark enough for the neighbours not to see he’d brought a wizard home instead of a witch – not that he thought anyone would really care, but Mrs. Graylock next door did sometimes pop into the Witches’ Institute, where she just might bump into his mother one day if he was very unlucky – and he invariably was.

He fumbled for his keys while Remus pretended to be very interested in the gutters of the building opposite, and slipped inside with an apologetic smile. Remus splashed through the shallow puddles left over from the morning’s rain and stepped inside, wiping his feet carefully.

“Sorry.” Peter was breathless, though he couldn’t have said why. He’d done this plenty of times, but never with light pouring through the hall window and showing up every bit of chipped paintwork.

“Stop apologising,” Remus said, and then his face was too close, his eyelids sleepy and his lips…

Oh.

Remus’ lips were on his, and it had been too long; far, far too long since someone had done that. And he was not only kissing him, Peter realised, as he opened his mouth and twisted his fingers into Remus’ hair, but drinking him down every bit as desperately as he wanted to do in return.

And if they didn’t move, he was in grave danger of being discovered by a neighbour in a very compromising situation.

“Upstairs,” he gasped, breaking off the kiss. “Shared. Hallway.”

The bedsit was shabby, the curtains still half-drawn and the remains of breakfast still sitting on the coffee table, but Remus didn’t seem to care, he just gave that lazy, tired smile as he slipped his robes off and climbed onto the rickety bed.

“Come on, Peter,” he said, leaning on one elbow. “I don’t have all day like you Ministry types.”

Peter didn’t have all day either, but the gap between having a naked Remus on his bed and actually _touching_ part of him was beginning to seem wider every second. A naked Remus he had no right to, just as he had no right to his company, his friendship, his—

The hand sliding up from behind him to stroke along his thigh didn’t know that, though. The unsteady fingers that unbuttoned his robe knew nothing about his treachery either, and the hard cock he could feel pressing into his backside as the weight behind him shifted and creaked on the bed probably wouldn’t care even if it did. Cocks were like that, in his experience. They just wanted to go somewhere, and it didn’t much matter where it was, generally.

It made him feel a bit better as he tumbled out of his robe, that at least part of Remus wouldn’t sneer at him, get dressed coldly and leave if it knew. It wouldn’t push away this mouth, the mouth that took it inside and sucked greedily while Remus bucked and whispered nonsense words at the cracked ceiling, the mouth that was going to betray one of his oldest friends to the Dark Lord that very night. It wouldn’t refuse to be slicked up by those long, crooked fingers that were always just a little claw-like if you looked carefully, or deny him the long, slow slide of it inside him, Remus pressed safe and close against his back. He savoured the hint of discomfort he wasn’t going to complain about, because he didn’t deserve smooth and perfect; this ragged coupling was more than he could have hoped for this morning.

It was more than he was ever going to get again, even if he survived the night.

* * *

“I have to go soon.”

“Mm.”

“Not now. But soon.”

“Mm.”

Peter could feel Remus’ arm pull him closer. Hot breath huffed across his ear.

“Didn’t expect this from our lunch date.” The warm voice trickled down his ear, and Peter shivered. “Not that I’m complaining.”

Peter wanted to say something appropriate, something intelligent even, if he could manage it, but his brains were staining the cheap bedspread and drying on his belly, and if he’d known this was what he was selling out, he’d have watched his family tremble and take their chances with the rest of them. But he hadn’t known there could be anything like this, hadn’t the faintest idea there was warmth, and real friendship still, and maybe more, among his friends.

“I’d like to do this again,” said that gravelly voice, and it should have been wonderful, but it wasn’t going to be. “How about Saturday night? I’d make it tonight but I promised to visit Frank and Alice, they’re bringing baby Neville home from the hospital today.”

Baby–? “What?” Peter sat up abruptly. “But… I thought Alice lost the baby?”

Remus scratched at his head and reached for his robes.

“No, no. It was touch-and-go for a while, and he’s spent a long time at St. Mungo’s, but he’s fine now. Absolutely thriving, they say.”

Peter swore under his breath, ducking down to tie his shoelaces. That’s what happened when you made assumptions, listened to fourth-hand gossip instead of checking everything yourself. But now… now it also meant there was an alternative for the Dark Lord, and just maybe he wouldn’t have to betray his friends, could keep what he’d found here today.

“Saturday, then,” he promised as they parted at the corner, and was treated to one of those rare real smiles Remus kept for special occasions.

If things went his way, maybe he would be able to keep it there.


End file.
